


Desperation

by TheKatlocker (TheKat79)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, John is a Saint, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock (TV) Season/Series 04 Fix-it, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKat79/pseuds/TheKatlocker
Summary: After a terrible nightmare Sherlock seeked solace in John's arms. One thing led to another until Sherlock bolted from John's room and John desperately tried to find him in the middle of a freezing winter night.





	1. Chapter 1

John startled awake in the middle of the night, wondering what had interrupted his sleep. He rolled over, grabbing his mobile from the nightstand to check the time. 2.14 am. John rubbed his face, dropping the phone back onto the nightstand. Then he heard it, a soft knock on the door and a barely audible whisper.   
“John?”  
“Sherlock?“ John leaned up on one elbow, brows furrowing in confusion. ”Come in.”  
The door opened slowly and John could see Sherlock standing in the doorframe. He couldn't see Sherlock's face, just his lean silhouette in the faint light shining in from the staircase.   
“Hey, what's wrong?”  
“It's, erm...” Sherlock swallowed audibly.   
John sat up in bed.   
“Sherlock?”  
“Just... wanted to check if you're okay,” he said, voice oddly strained.   
“Why wouldn't I be?”  
“I...” Sherlock's breathing was ragged and John's sleep-deprived brain finally caught up. Something must have startled him tremendously to show up in John's room in the middle of the night.   
“Come here.”  
Sherlock hesitated for a second before he walked over slowly, stopping two steps away from the bed. John switched on the bedside lamp, blinking until his eyes had adjusted to the light before he gave him a once-over. Sherlock was wearing soft pyjama trousers and an old grey T-Shirt, sweat marks under the armpits and in the middle of his chest. His hair was a mess, sweat shining on his forehead too. His eyes were roaming anxiously all over John's body, but avoided his eyes completely. He looked shaken and John's heart ached.   
“Nightmare?” he whispered softly and Sherlock nodded.   
“Sit down.” John patted the bed beside him and shuffled over a bit. Sherlock moved carefully closer and sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes cast down, hands fidgeting with his pyjama trousers.   
“Do you want to talk about it?” John's voice was as soft as he could manage, despite the lingering roughness from sleep.   
Sherlock glanced up briefly but wasn't able to hold his gaze for more than two seconds but it finally gave John a chance to see his eyes, if only briefly. They were red rimmed. He had been crying and John's chest clenched.   
“Hey, what is it?” John reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder but Sherlock startled under the touch. He looked up, eyes flicking nervously over John again, one hand clenching in the fabric of his pyjama trousers.   
“Sherlock?”  
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a few shallow breaths before he opened them again.   
“I... it... the dream... it was...” Sherlock huffed, so John gave his shoulder a little squeeze before he started rubbing up and down his upper arm in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.   
“Tell me?” John asked softly.  
Sherlock nodded, lips pressed together in a tight line before he tried again.   
“I dreamed of the day when you moved back here,” Sherlock whispered and closed his eyes once more, trying to get his breathing under control.   
John waited. He had moved back in about a month after Sherlock had come back from the dead, only a few days before Christmas. The first week had been tense, neither of them really knowing how to act around the other but until New Year's they had mainly been in sync again and things had gone almost back to how they used to be before everything went to hell. It was February now and John nearly felt as if they had never been apart. The time without Sherlock and with Mary as an inadequate substitute only a faint memory now.   
In the end it had been easy to end things with Mary. He had planned to marry her, yes, but he had never really loved her. She had only been his second best option after the one person he had loved most in this world had died in front of his eyes.   
It still hurt, quite a lot actually, but Sherlock was back in his life and John was thankful for it, every second of every day. 

John's focus shifted back to Sherlock, who still had his eyes shut tight, breathing hard through his nose, so that his nostrils were fluttering.   
“What happened in your dream?” John asked carefully.   
Sherlock opened his eyes, gaze flicking up to John's face briefly, before they fixated on a spot in the middle of John's forehead.   
“You... you walked through the living room door with your duffel bag in hand and you smiled at me and called my name and...”  
Sherlock sobbed once and John closed one hand around the back of his neck.   
“...and suddenly there were steps behind you and... and...”  
Sherlock paused for a long time, eyes screwed up tightly, breathing hard and John just waited with his hand around the back of his neck, drawing small circles there with his thumb, until Sherlock continued in a trembling voice.   
“It was Moriarty,” he whispered and John's chest clenched. He never wanted to hear that name ever again.   
“What did he do?”  
“He had a gun. He shot you in the head, John and your blood was all over me and Moriarty grinned and...”  
There were tears in Sherlock's eyes and John pulled him in his arms and held him as tight as he could manage.   
“I'm here, Sherlock. I'm fine. Moriarty is dead. He will never come back. He's not going to hurt any of us ever again. Do you hear me?” John said, voice not as firm as he wanted it to be.   
Sherlock pressed his face into the crook of John's neck.  
“Was that how it felt for you when I...?” Sherlock didn't finish the sentence but John knew exactly what he meant.   
“Yeah.”  
“I'm so sorry, John,” Sherlock whispered. 

It was quiet in the room then, Sherlock's hard breathing the only sound in the dim light. John pressed his body a bit more firmly against Sherlock's, giving him as much body contact as possible, one hand stroking soothingly up and down Sherlock's back while the other arm held im in a tight embrace around his shoulders.   
John knew exactly how he felt. Nightmares could be terrifying. John had woken up numerous times not knowing what was real and what had only been a terrible dream. It could take ages to realize that they weren't real in the middle of the night with no one there to bring you back to reality, no one to hold onto.   
He knew that Sherlock had nightmares ever since he had come back from the dead. John had woken up from Sherlock's cries several times during the last weeks, but never dared to knock on his door in the middle of the night. John had tried to talk to him about it more than once, but Sherlock always ignored him or waved him off, so John had never pushed him about the topic. He wished he had, now. 

John noticed that Sherlock had started trembling in his arms, breath coming even harder than before and it took John another minute to notice that the fabric of his t-shirt became damp at the shoulder. Sherlock was crying so John tightened the arm around his shoulders and slipped the other hand into messy curls, stroking softly.   
John didn't say a word, he just held Sherlock in his arms and waited. It took a long time until he calmed down and stopped crying entirely, but eventually he did.   
John drew back a bit to look him in the eyes then. Sherlock's whole face was wet from tears, eyes puffy and red, but he held John's gaze. John stroked an unruly curl out of Sherlock's face and wiped a few tears away with his thumb.   
“It's over now, okay? We made it and we are here now, Sherlock. It's over.” John said intently. 

Sherlock stared at him for a long time, searching his face and suddenly something in his expression shifted. He brought a hand up to cup John's face, stroked along his cheek once and then he leaned in, pressing his lips to John's, hard.   
John's brain went offline for a second and suddenly Sherlock pulled back, eyes wide, expression completely unreadable. They stared at each other for long seconds, both of them breathing hard and then John closed his hand around the back of Sherlock's neck again, pulled him in and kissed him back.   
There was nothing soft or gentle about that kiss. It was hard and desperate. John pressed his tongue into Sherlock's mouth and Sherlock gave in immediately, tongue tangling with John's. It felt more like a fight than a kiss but oh, so good and suddenly Sherlock crawled on top of John, pressing him down into the mattress and the next thing John felt was Sherlock's erection pressing hard against his own and they both groaned. Sherlock was grinding hard against him, hands all over John's body and John desperately tried to keep up with him. They were both panting hard, hands gripping where ever they could reach, kissing hard with teeth and tongues, more biting than kissing actually until Sherlock slid down John's body, taking the covers with him and pulled John's pyjama trousers down hastily. John wasn't able to process what was happening until he felt Sherlock's mouth closing around the head of his erect cock and he jerked upwards with a loud groan, nearly choking Sherlock in his haste. Sherlock pressed his hips to the mattress and swirled his tongue around John's cock, hot and wet.   
“Oh my God,” John panted, desperately trying to hold still. He reached down to grab Sherlock's curls in a tight grip and Sherlock hummed and swallowed him down as far as he could manage.   
“Oh fuck,” John groaned and let his head fall back into the pillow. When he looked up again he saw Sherlock's curls bumping up and down and his cock disappearing between those beautiful lips and he almost lost it right then and there.   
“Sherlock,” he groaned and Sherlock looked up at him then, for a split second only and that's when time stopped. 

John expected Sherlock's eyes to be hazy and half lidded but instead there were still tears in his eyes and he looked desperate, but in an entirely wrong way.   
He looked... forlorn and John's heart dropped.   
“Sherlock, stop,” John panted.   
Sherlock pressed his eyes shut, avoiding John's gaze and instead of pulling off he swallowed him even deeper, sucking harder, hands gripping hard at John's waist, probably leaving bruises. John groaned, head falling back onto the pillow once more, but then he tightened the grip in Sherlock's hair and tried to pull him off.   
“Stop, Sherlock, please. Stop it.” John literally begged.   
Sherlock pulled back immediately, releasing John's cock and sat up on his heels, shoulders hunched. His chest was heaving as if he had just run a marathon. He didn't meet John's eyes.   
“Sherlock,” John said quietly, sitting up to touch him, but Sherlock climbed out of his bed. John tried to grab his wrist but he pulled back entirely and rushed out of the room.   
“Sherlock!” John called after him but the door slammed shut and John heard him bolting down the stairs. He buryied his face in his hands. All John could hear was his own blood rushing in his ears and his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He tried to calm his breathing and tried to process what had just happened. It took him a full minute to come back to himself.   
This was all wrong. All John had ever dreamed of had just happened. Sherlock in his bed, kissing him, wanting him, but not like this. Not when Sherlock was hurt and terrified and wasn't thinking clearly.   
It took John another minute to notice that there wasn't a single sound coming from downstairs. He climbed out of bed, pulled his pyjama trousers up and rushed down the stairs. The kitchen and living room were dark and empty but the light in the corridor was on and the door to Sherlock's bedroom wide open.   
“Sherlock?” John called, approaching slowly and stepped into the room but Sherlock wasn't there. John knocked at the bathroom door but the room was empty, too.   
“Fuck!”  
John rushed back to the staircase to look for Sherlock's coat and shoes but they were gone.   
“Oh no.” He stalked to the window in the living room, searching the street outside but it was completely empty so John ran up the stairs to his bedroom to fetch his phone. He dialed Sherlock's number and waited until he heard a ringing sound from downstairs and his heart dropped. John ran back down, three steps at a time. The sound came from Sherlock's bedroom and sure enough, there was his mobile, lying on the nightstand.   
“Fuck!” John hung up and grabbed Sherlock's phone before he ran back up the stairs to change into jeans and a jumper as quickly as he could manage. He put his shoes and coat on and pocketed Sherlock's mobile before he left the house through the front door.   
Once outside the cold February night hit him like a bus, his breath forming little clouds in front of his face as soon as he stepped onto the street. He pulled his coat tighter.   
“Dammit, Sherlock, where are you?” John muttered, starting to run down the street to Regents Park. He searched the whole park, starting with their regular places before he went through the rest of it, but Sherlock wasn't there.  
“Where are you?” John shoved one hand through his hair. He walked to the next main road, praying against all odds for a cab to appear in the middle of the night. It seemed to be his lucky day for once, since it took him less than five minutes to find one.   
“St. Barts Hospital,” John told the driver and closed the door. He sat anxiously in the car, pondering about all the places Sherlock could have gone to.   
God, damn it, why hadn't he stopped Sherlock from bolting? Why had it taken him so long to catch up with what had happened. Jesus, he wanted Sherlock. He wanted him so much. But only if Sherlock wanted him too. Not when he was out of his head from a nightmare and might regret what he had done in the morning. 

John's head was spinning and he didn't even notice that they had arrived at St. Barts until the driver had called several times. He finally snapped out of his thoughts and told the cabbie to wait, throwing hundred pounds at him before he ran off. John looked up at the roof anxiously and was relieved when he couldn't see anyone standing there. He rushed inside and through long corridors and staircases into the morgue. He searched all the labs and at last checked the roof, just to be absolutely sure, but Sherlock was nowhere.   
John shoved both hands into his pockets, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, not only from running through the hospital corridors but also because he was afraid. Afraid of what Sherlock might do if he was alone in his head for too long. John needed to find him, but how?   
Sherlock's phone, John thought and pulled it out of his own pocket. He unlocked the screen and scrolled through Sherlock's contact list until he found the entry named 'Wiggins'.  
John checked the time, 3.52 am and hesitated for about two seconds before he dialed the number. Billy answered after the second ring. Not sleeping then, John thought.   
“Sherlock Holmes at four in the mornin' can only mean one thing.” Billy sounded way too smug for John's liking. “Whatya need? Morphine, cocaine or something else?”  
“Billy, it's John Watson.”  
“Oh, Dr. Watson?” Billy sounded a bit startled.   
“Listen Billy, I need your help.”  
“Something happened to Sherlock?”  
“Yes, he has disappeared and I can't find him. I was wondering if you and your friends could help. I need to find him and quickly.”  
“Sure thing, Dr. Watson. I can call a few people. Call you when we found 'im.”  
“Don't go near him, just tell me where he is.”  
“A' right.” Billy ended the call. 

What now? John remembered something Sherlock had told him once when they had been on a stakeout. They had been observing a pet shop that Sherlock suspected to be a place for money laundering but nothing interesting had happened all through the night so they had had a lot of time to talk about all sorts of things. One story in particular had caught John's attention. 'The empty houses' at Leinster Gardens, Sherlock had apparently won in a Poker game. John had never been there but he knew that Sherlock kept the keys to that place handy, since it was a perfect hideout for all sorts of things, including consulting detectives that were running away from their best friends in the middle of the night, John assumed. 

John ran back outside and was relieved to see that the cabbie had actually waited for him.   
“Leinster Gardens,” he told the driver and threw the door shut once more. John was getting more nervous by the minute, anxiously awaiting their arrival. He saw the driver's eyes checking on him in the mirror with a deep frown several times through the ride.   
It took them less than twenty minutes at that time of the night but for John it felt like an eternity. He jumped out of the cab before it had even stopped entirely and the driver cursed after him.   
“Back in a minute,” John called over his shoulder.   
He went up along the street, scanning the houses for something unusual until he found a false facade, with painted windows. 44 and 45 Leinster Gardens, that must be it. John tried the doorknob of both houses but the doors were locked.   
“Dammit,” John cursed under his breath.   
There were about a hundred places all over London Sherlock could be and John probably didn't even know half of his bolt holes. He had been away for two years after all and John had only a vague idea what had happened during that time and where he had been. He could be anywhere. It couldn't be helped, he needed more help. John pulled his own mobile out of his jacket pocket. He debated for a few seconds in his own head before he decided to call Molly.   
He really didn't want to explain to Mycroft why he was running around London trying to find his little brother in the middle of the night and he didn't think that Sherlock would ever go to Mycroft in a situation like that. But Molly had helped him before so it was worth a try.   
It took Molly five rings to answer the phone and she sounded sleepy when she did.   
“John?”  
“Molly, hi. I'm sorry I know it's the middle of the night.”  
“Is something wrong with Sherlock?” She sounded alarmed. Of course that would be her first conclusion.   
“Yes, no, I mean, I don't know. He's not with you, is he?”  
“No, he's not. Did something happen?”  
“No, yes, I...” John inhaled deeply.   
“You're afraid he could do something stupid.” It wasn't a question. Molly knew both of them much better than any of them gave her credit.   
“Maybe. I just can't find him at one of his usual places, but he was away for two years, so maybe he has some new bolt holes?”  
“Not that I know, I'm sorry John.”  
“It's fine, thank you, Molly. Sorry...”  
“It's fine, John. Tell me when you've found him, okay?”  
“Will do.” John ended the call, nearly tearing his own hair out in frustration.   
“Hey, what now?” The cabbie called out of the window.   
“Just give me a minute, okay?”  
The cabbie rolled his window back up and stared at him. John shoved a hand through his hair, massaging the back of his neck. He needed to call Mycroft after all, dammit. But just when he scrolled through his contact list there was an incoming text interrupting him. John saw Billy's name as the sender and held his breath. There was a file attached that John opened with a tap of a trembling finger. It was a map of London with a red dot marking a location. John zoomed in and his heart started racing in his chest. ‘Roland Kerr Further Educational College.’ Their first case, where John had shot the cabbie to save Sherlock's life.   
John rushed back to the taxi and showed the cabbie his phone for their next destination. They took off in a rush, John's hand clenching hard around his mobile. It took the cabbie another fifteen minutes to get there.   
“Wait here,” John told him and opened the door.   
”Makes fifty quid, mate.”  
John huffed in frustration, but reached in his pocket to pull the rest of his money out.   
“I've 42 pounds left.” John stretched out his hand with the last of his money, hoping it would do.   
“Too bad, mate.”  
“Please. My best friend is out there somewhere and I need to find him, before he does something stupid.”  
The cabbie's expression shifted.   
“Alright, alright, off you go.”  
John took a closer look at him for the first time that night. The man was about John's age, light brown hair trimmed short, blue shirt buttoned up to the top, scar on the left temple, possibly from a graze shot.   
“Ex soldier,” John said and the guy nodded.   
“Afghanistan or Iraq?” John asked and couldn't prevent his mouth from twitching upwards at the memory.   
“Iraq,” he said.   
“Afghanistan,” John told him.   
They stared into each other's eyes and nodded briefly, the cabbie's lips twitching upwards at the corners, too.   
“Go,” the man told him and nodded in the direction of the college buildings.   
“Thanks, mate,” John called over his shoulder when he ran off. 

John ran around the buildings, trying both of the main doors and all the side entrances, but the buildings were closed.   
“Shit.” He whirled around to screen his surroundings and walked along the campus, searching for a sign of Sherlock, until he came to a group of trees with some benches underneath, dimly lit by street lamps.   
And there he was, sitting on one of the benches facing the buildings. John felt a rush of relief flooding his system and let out a long sigh.   
Sherlock was wearing his coat and dress shoes but underneath John could see pyjama trousers and his heart ached. Sherlock was staring into thin air, hands folded in his lap, not acknowledging John in the slightest although he was pretty sure that Sherlock had seen him coming. John approached him carefully, stopping a few steps away from him.   
“Hey,” John said quietly.   
Sherlock took a deep breath and dropped his head.   
“Hello John.”  
Now that the adrenaline started to wear off John felt the ice cold winter air for the first time since he had left Baker Street and shivered.   
“What are you doing here?” John asked carefully.   
“What does it look like?” Sherlock's voice sounded hollow.   
“Like you're running away from me.”  
“Excellent deduction, John.” Sherlock tried to sound snappy but failed by a mile. He just sounded tired and... sad.   
John stepped closer, taking a seat right beside Sherlock, but with enough space that they weren't touching.   
“I would have preferred to talk about what has happened.”  
Sherlock's head snapped up and around to face John.   
“What is there to talk about, John. I think it's fairly obvious. You were blindsided. You played along until you came to your senses and remembered that you're not gay and kicked me out.” Sherlock stared him down.   
“Hmm,“ John nodded thoughtful, ”problem is, you got that entirely wrong.”  
Sherlock scoffed, turning his head away from John.   
“Sherlock, I kissed you back, remember?”  
Sherlock dropped his head again, voice becoming a whisper.   
“Of course I remember.”  
“Do you really think I would have kissed you back when I didn't actually wanted to?”  
Sherlock huffed in frustration, he was out of his depth here. John tried to think about how to get this right, how to tell Sherlock what he felt for him in a way that he would actually believe it. 

“Sherlock? Why did you come to this place?” John asked quietly.   
Sherlock closed his eyes. There was a long silence and John almost thought that he wouldn't get an answer. But then Sherlock looked up through his lashes, glancing sideways at John's profile.   
“I wanted to remember the best night of my life,” he whispered.   
John turned to him.   
“What?”  
“Our first case, after you shot that cabbie and I deduced it...“ Sherlock said, smiling sadly. ”You called me an idiot and you smiled at me, a sincere smile... that's when I knew you would stay, John, unlike anyone before you. That's when I...”  
“When you what?” John whispered.   
Sherlock looked down at the floor in front of his feet, hands clenching in his lap.   
“Sherlock?”   
“That's when I fell in love.”  
John's heart started beating in a wild rhythm, it felt like it wanted to beat right out of his chest. He reached out carefully, taking Sherlock's large hand in his own. His fingers were ice cold and he didn't react to John's touch in the slightest.   
“Sherlock, what has happened tonight... I wanted that for so long that I never thought it would actually happen.”  
“But you pushed me away.” Sherlock whispered.   
“No, I... Sherlock I saw your face when... You were crying and you looked desperate and not in a good way and that wasn't how I wanted anything to happen between us.”  
Sherlock turned away from him, pulling his hand out of John's grip.   
“Sherlock, I've imagined this so many times, being together with you, but I had hoped that you would love what we were doing, not to be terrified by it.”  
“But I did love it.” Sherlock's voice sounded so small so John grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him back around. He slipped his hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and stroked his thumb soothingly along the cold skin at the side of his neck.   
”Sherlock, you were sucking me off as if it was the only chance you would ever get.”  
“Well, nobody else ever...” Sherlock cut himself off, eyes going wide.   
John waited, studying his face intently.  
“Tell me.”  
Sherlock closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and the words tumbled out of him.   
“Nobody else ever wanted to keep me around after they got what they wanted.”  
“Sherlock.” John pulled him into his arms, heart heavy in his chest. He stroked one hand soothingly through Sherlock's curls, the other one holding him close.   
“Sherlock?”  
Sherlock turned his head a little, so John knew that he was listening.   
“I want you to look at me. Really look at me,” John whispered into his ear. Sherlock pulled back, searching John's face.   
“Now make a deduction.”  
John knew that Sherlock wouldn't believe in words alone, he needed to see the evidence with his own eyes, needed to deduce it himself, so John was wearing his heart on his sleeve and he hoped Sherlock would see it and understood what it meant. He took Sherlock's hand again and this time he didn't pull away so John painted little patterns into the palm of Sherlock's ice cold hand.   
Sherlock studied him for a long time and John saw his expression shifting from confusion to astonishment to doubt and disbelief and that's when John knew that Sherlock had seen it. He had seen everything that John felt for him and he took this moment to pull Sherlock closer until their foreheads were touching. John tilted his head and closed the last little gap between them. And this time when their lips met it was soft and tender, Sherlock's lips cold under John's but his breath was warm, despite the cold winter air. It was everything John had ever dreamed of. He moved his lips tentatively over Sherlock's, tongue touching a plush upper lip softly until Sherlock opened his mouth to let him in. Their tongues touched for the second time that night but this time it was so much better.   
John felt Sherlock's arms slipping around his waist, pulling him closer and John tightened the grip in Sherlock's curls, drawing a little whimper from his throat. They were exploring each other's mouths slowly, without any rush and John felt as if he could fly. After what felt like an eternity, John pulled back slowly, resting his forehead against Sherlock's.   
“Let's go home,” John whispered against kiss swollen lips.   
John took Sherlock by the hand and they walked around the building to the waiting taxi. 

As soon as they were in the cab John pulled him close and Sherlock buried his face in the crook of his neck.   
“221B Baker Street,” John told the cabbie.   
Their eyes met in the rear view mirror and the cabbie gave him a nod and a little smile.   
It was warm and cozy in the cab, soft music coming from the speakers, Sherlock's body a comfortable weight in his arms. The rhythm of the little puffs of breath against John's skin became calmer by the minute amd now that the adrenaline was wearing off completely John's limbs felt heavy. He leaned his head against Sherlock's curls, tightened the grip around Sherlock's shoulders briefly, which earned him a content hum and a little nuzzling against his neck. John smiled and closed his eyes. 

“Hey guys.”  
John opened his eyes, startling a bit and found the cabbie smiling at him from the front seat.   
“You're home,” he nodded out the window.   
John turned his head and saw the front door of 221b.   
“Thank god.”  
Sherlock was leaning heavily against him, his breathing deep and even. John smiled and nudged him a bit to wake him up.   
“Hey Sherlock, we're home.”  
Sherlock shifted, sitting up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. John leaned over to open the door on Sherlock's side, nudging him out of the car.   
“Just a minute, mate. I'll go and get your money.”  
“Nah, s'fine.” The cabbie gave him a short nod. “Get your friend inside.”  
John looked back at him and smiled.   
“Ta, mate.”  
He got out of the cab behind Sherlock, pulled his keys out and opened the door, pushing Sherlock through it with a hand at the small of his back. They climbed the stairs slowly, John half a step behind Sherlock, never letting his hand fall away from Sherlock's back.   
They both got rid of their scarfs and coats on the landing and Sherlock really wasn't wearing anything else than pyjama trousers and a t-shirt underneath.   
John took Sherlock's still cold hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.   
“Upstairs, come on,” he said quietly.   
Sherlock's eyes went wide and John's heart dropped.   
“I mean, I just thought...” John huffed. He looked up into clear blue eyes. “I don't want to wake up alone in the morning...”  
‘I don't want one of us to get the chance to freak out over night and pretend nothing has happened in the morning,’ was what he didn't say but John didn't get any further than this anyway because Sherlock's lips crashed against his own and then John was encircled in his arms. Sherlock softened the kiss immediately, slipping one hand into John's hair and John returned the favour, stroking one hand through silky curls while the other slipped around Sherlock's lean waist. John moved his lips slowly against Sherlock's, relishing in the sweetness of it for a bit, before he drew back reluctantly.  
“Come on then.”  
John led him up the stairs, closing his bedroom door behind them and led Sherlock over to the bed, pulling him into another kiss. John kissed him for a long time, hands roaming all over Sherlock's back and along his sides, slowly, so very slowly and up into his curls, Sherlock following his lead without hesitation. The kiss wasn't heated, just soft and gentle and so very sweet. John wanted more, so much more and he could turn it into something heated in a heartbeat, but they were both drained, physically and emotionally. They had time for everything else in the morning. Well, technically it was morning already, but they both needed a bit of sleep just now.   
John drew back slowly and found clear blue eyes looking back at him. He brought a hand up to caress a sharp cheekbone and leaned up on his toes to press a soft kiss to Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed briefly and his lips twitched upwards at the corners.   
“Let's go to bed, I'm knackered,” John said quietly.   
He pulled off his jumper and jeans, leaving him only in the vest he was wearing underneath and his boxer briefs and climbed into bed. He patted the bed beside him and Sherlock followed.   
They were lying side by side, looking into each other's eyes for a long while. Their eyes were getting heavy, fluttering closed more than once during the next few minutes, but neither of them seemed to be willing to give up the moment until Sherlock reached over to cup John's face and smiled, shuffling closer to press a kiss to John's forehead. John rolled over onto his back and grabbed Sherlock's arm to pull him half on top of himself. There was a bit of shuffling and rearranging until Sherlock was pressed comfortably against his side, one arm and leg thrown over John's body, Sherlock's face nuzzling against his neck. John tightened the arm around his shoulders and interlaced the fingers of his other hand with Sherlock's where it was lying on his chest. He could get used to this and decided to just tell him.   
“I could get used to this, you know,” John whispered into silky curls and Sherlock shuffled a bit closer still, tightening his long fingers between John's.   
“Me too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With so many lovely requests it didn't take much to convince me to write that second chapter. It took a bit longer than anticipated because sometimes real life just kills my writing mood and I have to wait until it comes back, but now it's finished, in time for Valentines Day.  
> Like I promised, a bit more of insecure Sherlock and... smut, enjoy.

John woke up hours later, with a vague feeling that something fundamental had changed. He couldn't quite grasp it for a few seconds, but then the events of the previous night hit him like a bus.  
Sherlock. Sherlock's lips on his own, warm hands on his skin. Sherlock bolting from his room and John chasing after him in the middle of the night. More kissing in the staircase and in his room afterwards and then falling asleep together here in this very bed.  
John's heart felt as if it might explode any second from the sheer joy of last night's memories and he kept his eyes closed, just a little longer, reveling in those feelings before he smiled and turned around to pull the man in question back into his arms. But instead of finding a warm body beside him his hand only hit the cold, empty mattress. Sherlock wasn't there. And going by the temperature of the sheets under John's fingertips he had left quite a while ago.  
John's good spirits sank, but just for a moment. Then he remembered what Sherlock had told him last night on that bench outside the college. He had said that he had fallen in love with John that very first night and John's heart missed a beat in his chest, lips twitching upwards once again. He took a deep breath, rolled out of bed, put his dressing gown on and walked down the stairs.

The door leading to the kitchen was wide open and John found Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table, bent over his microscope with his back to the door. He was dressed in black trousers and a crisp white shirt, hair styled in perfection, as if this was just any other day and not the most important morning of their acquaintance. John leaned against the doorframe for a bit, arms folded in front of his chest, observing the man in front of him. Those beautiful black curls, broad shoulders and a slim waist and God, that perfect arse.  
Sherlock on his chair was hardly moving a muscle, but his breathing was unusually shallow. John assumed that Sherlock was very much aware of him standing in the doorframe so he smiled and stepped closer.  
“Morning,” he said quietly.  
“Good morning, John,” Sherlock said to the microscope.  
John reached out to drop his hand to the back of Sherlock's neck and felt him going very still. He squeezed once before he made his way to the bathroom.  
“Would you mind making some tea?” John asked over his shoulder.  
“Of course not,” Sherlock told him.  
Before John went into the bathroom he took a glance back at Sherlock and found him still in the same position but his fingers were twitching nervously and his breathing seemed to be a bit too quick now.  
John shook his head with a grin and closed the bathroom door behind him. He wondered, not for the first time, how one man could be so infuriating and adorable at the same time? 

John did as he must and brushed his teeth as quickly as he could manage before he went back into the kitchen to find Sherlock at the counter, two mugs of steaming tea in front of him and a plate with two slices of buttered toast beside them.  
John stepped right behind Sherlock and closed a hand around his hip bone, making Sherlock tense a bit immediately.  
“I had hoped to wake up with you in my arms, you know,” John murmured, stepping so close that Sherlock must be able to feel the heat of John's body through the thin fabric of his shirt.  
“I, umm... the experiment... I needed to...” He gestured in the vague direction of the microscope, nervous energy radiating off him in waves and John felt so much love for him in this very moment that his heart seemed close to bursting.  
“You freaked out when you woke up, didn't you?”  
“I did no such thing.”  
“Oh yes, you did,” John grinned and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's shoulderblade.  
“I made you breakfast,” Sherlock nodded to the counter.  
“Did you have some?”  
“No.”  
“Then half of this is yours.” John stepped around him to grab a piece of toast and pushed the plate in Sherlock's direction. He leaned backwards against the counter and took a bite.  
“I'm not hungry.” Sherlock mumbled, eyes fixed on the counter in front of him.  
“Eat it anyways, you might need the energy later.” John grinned and took another bite. Sherlock glanced sideways at him and the tip of his ear went adorably pink which made John grin even wider.  
“The, the, your, ah, your phone...” Sherlock literally stumbled through the words. “Wouldn't stop ringing.”  
“Oh?”  
“It was Molly, wanted to know if I'm alright.” Sherlock looked at him with an odd expression.  
“Oh, damn, I promised to call her.”  
“You called her in the middle of the night?”  
There was this lovely crinkle at the bridge of Sherlock's nose now and John just wanted to kiss it away.  
“Sherlock I couldn't find you, I needed a bit of help.”  
“But...”  
“I would have called anyone in my bloody contact list no matter the time, to find you.”  
“Oh.”  
Sherlock dropped his eyes back to the counter, fidgeting with the toast he still hadn't eaten. John finished his own toast and washed it down with a large gulp of too hot tea. Then he grabbed Sherlock by the wrist and pulled him in front of him, so that Sherlock could pin him against the counter if he only wanted to, but Sherlock still didn't meet his eyes.  
“Did you call anyone else?”  
“Bill Wiggins.” John told him and Sherlock looked up with his brows furrowed and the bridge of his nose even more crinkled. John loved that look on his face.  
“You have Wiggins' number?”  
“No, but you have it. You left your phone in the flat last night.”  
“Oh.”  
“He was actually the one who told me where to find you, about two seconds before I was going to call your brother.”  
“You were going to call Mycroft?” Sherlock looked completely irritated now.  
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, you know,” John said quietly and moved a hand up along Sherlock's arm and over his shoulder until it rested against the side of his neck. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed and he swayed forward a bit.  
“I believe you owe me a good morning kiss, you know,” John murmured and Sherlock's eyes snapped open. John slipped his hand around the back of Sherlock's neck to pull him down. 

“Yoohoo.”  
Mrs Hudson's voice came from the staircase and Sherlock jumped away from John, busying himself with the dishes on the counter. John's heart did a happy twitch in his chest and he grinned when Mrs Hudson entered through the open kitchen door.  
“Good morning Mrs H.”  
He walked around the table to give her a warm hug.  
“Good morning, John. What was that for?” Her face was shining. “Good morning, Sherlock.”  
“Morning Mrs Hudson.”  
Sherlock fidgeted with the dishes until a mug slipped through his fingers and clattered into the sink.  
“Sherlock dear, are you alright?”  
“Of course,” Sherlock told her and turned around.  
Mrs Hudson glanced from Sherlock, who was radiating even more nervous energy than before, to John, who's face started hurting from all the grinning and back to Sherlock whose eyes were fixed on the floor now, hands twitching at his sides.  
“Did I interrupt anything?” Mrs Hudson's brows furrowed in confusion.  
“Umm,” John glanced at Sherlock and their eyes met. John was still grinning like an idiot and Sherlock couldn't prevent his own lips from twitching upwards before he hastily looked back to the floor in front of him. Mrs Hudson's head kept turning from John to Sherlock and back, as if she was watching a tennis match, eyes growing wider by the second.  
“Oh my god,” she breathed and clasped her hands in front of her chest.  
John glanced at her and found her eyes watering, face shining with a fond smile.  
“You know what, boys? I forgot that I wanted to visit my sister today. Don't expect me back before tomorrow afternoon.”  
She pulled John into her arms, whispering into his ear.  
“Make him happy, will you?”  
“I'll do my very best,” John told her and hugged her tight. 

Mrs Hudson quickly bid her goodbyes and vanished through the kitchen door, closing the door firmly behind her. John, still grinning widely, turned back to Sherlock who glanced up through his lashes and smiled back.  
“What did she say?”  
“She told me to make you happy.”  
Sherlock smiled wider and glanced back to the floor.  
John walked around the kitchen table and crowded him against the counter.  
“I believe you still owe me that good morning kiss.”  
“Quite right,” Sherlock murmured and leaned down. And then he jumped again when his mobile started ringing in his trouser pocket.  
“Oh for God's sake!”  
Sherlock shoved a hand into his pocket to get his mobile.  
“Lestrade? What do you want?”  
John couldn't hear what Greg was saying but Sherlock's expression became more and more irritated the longer Lestrade kept talking. John just stayed close to him and waited until he saw Sherlock rolling his eyes impatiently. He grabbed the mobile from Sherlock's hand and pressed it to his own ear.  
“Greg? Listen we have a little emergency here. Could you maybe call back tomorrow or I don't know, next week?”  
“What?” Lestrade sounded irritated. “What kind of an emergency? Do I have to send a SWAT team or something?”  
“No, I think we can handle that on our own.”  
“Are you sure, John? Is someone threatening you?”  
“No, not at all,“ John chuckled, ”I just really need to kiss Sherlock right now.”  
Sherlock's eyes went wide as saucers and there was complete silence on the other end of the line. John grinned and ended the call, dropping the phone onto the counter behind Sherlock. 

He looked up into clear blue eyes.  
“Where were we?” He asked quietly.  
Sherlock cupped his face with one large hand.  
“I believe I owe you a good morning kiss.”  
Sherlock's voice was deeper than John had ever heard it, causing his heartbeat to go up a notch.  
“I believe you're right.”  
He closed his eyes and finally, finally pressed his lips to Sherlock's smiling ones. They kept the kiss gentle for a bit, until John felt Sherlock's tongue softly tracing the seam of his lips and opened his mouth. Sherlock licked past his lips carefully until he found John's tongue and they both inhaled deeply. Finally.  
John felt Sherlock's arms encircling his shoulders and slipped one arm around Sherlock's waist and the other hand moved upwards to cup Sherlock's cheek. The hand on his own cheek wandered backwards into his hair and John pushed forward, pinning Sherlock against the kitchen counter to deepen the kiss. He heard a little whimper from Sherlock's throat that made his cock twitch in his pants.  
John kissed the corner of Sherlock's mouth, his cheek and along his jaw until he reached the pulse point where he sucked lightly, careful not to leave a mark. Sherlock's hand tightened in his hair and John could feel his heartbeat picking up speed under his lips. He kissed down along the side of this beautiful long neck and started opening the first button of Sherlock's shirt. John pressed a kiss to the skin that he exposed there and Sherlock's head fell back, mouth slightly open.  
“God, you're gorgeous,” John told him and kissed that beautiful throat. Sherlock pulled him closer in response. John opened the next button and pressed another kiss to Sherlock's skin. Then he pulled the hem of Sherlock's shirt out of his trousers and opened one button after another until he could finally slip the shirt off Sherlock's shoulders. And then there were inches and inches of gorgeously defined pectorals and smooth pale skin in front of him and John just looked at him for a bit. When he glanced back up, Sherlock was staring down at him incredulously.  
“What is it?” John asked.  
Sherlock's brows furrowed.  
“I just...” Sherlock still stared at him. “I just never thought... I mean I... can't believe that you want this, too.”  
John cupped his face with both hands.  
“More than anything,” he whispered and kissed him gently.  
Sherlock pulled him as close as humanly possible and pressed his face into the crook of John's neck, inhaling deeply. John stayed in his embrace, breathing him in for a long time, until he couldn't bear it any longer. He needed to be as close to him as possible, and soon.  
“Your bed or mine?” John whispered into his ear.  
Sherlock exhaled in a rush, as if the air had been punched out of his lungs.  
“Sofa's closer,” Sherlock murmured against John's neck.  
“You're a genius, I hope you know that.”  
John pressed a kiss onto the spot right below Sherlock's ear before he pulled back and looked up to find Sherlock staring back at him once more, pupils blown wide. Sherlock took his head in both hands and pressed his lips to John's forehead, lingering there for long seconds.  
“I wanted to do that for so long,” he murmured against John's forehead, breath hot and damp against his skin.  
“What exactly?” John whispered.  
“Everything.”  
John's chest went wide.  
“Come on, then.”

He took Sherlock by the hand and together they went into the living room. John got rid of his dressing gown on the way and they lay down side by side on the narrow sofa. Sherlock cupped his face again, tracing John's cheekbone with his thumb, eyes full of wonder, as if John was the most precious thing he had ever seen. John smiled and slipped an arm around Sherlock's torso, pulling him flush against himself before he leaned in to kiss him. Their kiss was soft at first until Sherlock slipped his tongue back into John's mouth and deepened the kiss and suddenly the mood shifted and they were pulling each other as close as they could get.  
John moved his hand along the small of Sherlock's back and up his spine, feeling soft, warm skin and Sherlock shivered in his arms. Sherlock hooked one leg around John's thigh and pulled him even closer with a hand around his hip. John could feel Sherlock's cock pushing against his own and they both groaned, but somehow it felt as if they were still too far apart. He shuffled and wriggled until Sherlock was right on top of him. John grabbed Sherlock's arse with one hand and pressed his own hips upwards until he felt their cocks sliding together.  
“John,” Sherlock hissed and kissed him hard, pushing John's t-shirt upwards and together they managed to pull it over his head and threw it away.  
And then suddenly Sherlock was very still on top of him. John searched his face until he saw that Sherlock was staring at the scar on his left shoulder.  
“Sherlock?”  
Sherlock's eyes snapped back to him.  
“I've never seen it before,” he whispered.  
John smiled at him.  
“Do you need to catalogue it, or something?”  
Sherlock leaned down to press a kiss into the middle of the scar before he looked back at John, grinning.  
“Hmm, definitely, but maybe later.”  
“Thank God.” And with that John leaned up and Sherlock leaned down until their lips met once more. They pressed their hips together so that their cocks were sliding against one another in a slow rhythm until they were both breathless. 

“Erm, Sherlock?” John panted between kisses.  
“Hmm?”  
“That blowjob that you started last night...“  
Sherlock drew back, expression insecure, so John hurried to continue.  
”I enjoyed that very much.”  
There was a brief moment of relief in Sherlock's eyes and then his lips twitched upwards at the corners.  
“Did you, now?”  
“Oh yes.”  
Sherlock kissed John fiercely and then started kissing along his jaw, down his neck and along his breastbone until he found John's left nipple and sucked hard. John inhaled sharply and twisted a hand in dark curls. Sherlock circled John's nipple with the tip of his tongue before he grazed his teeth over the sensitive spot and John was wriggling under him. Sherlock moved over to the other nipple, sucked once more and John moaned helplessly. And then he continued kissing down John's belly, circling his tongue around the belly button before he followed the thin trail of blonde hair with his tongue until he came to the hem of John's pyjama trousers. John was already panting by then and lifted his head in time to see Sherlock dragging his nose up and down John's clothed cock. Sherlock pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock and John could feel his hot breath through the thin fabric.  
Sherlock looked up with a mischievous grin, hooked two fingers into the hem of John's pyjama trousers and pulled them down slowly. Excruciatingly slow, until John's cock finally sprang free, already glistening at the tip. Sherlock pulled the trousers further down his thighs and leaned in to press a soft kiss to the tip of John's cock.  
“God, that feels good,” John breathed.  
Sherlock held John's cock at the base and closed his mouth around the tip and then John felt his tongue swirling around the glans and oh, that felt glorious. John stroked one hand through Sherlock's curls and heard him humming around his cock, which sent a shiver down John's spine. He let his head fall back into the sofa cushions and closed his eyes while Sherlock's mouth moved hot and wet along his shaft, tongue swirling back around the glans and into the slit and John could hardly keep his hips still any longer. He inhaled deeply and let his breath out in a soft moan, but suddenly he had a flashback to the previous night with Sherlock trying so desperately to get it all right. He needed to make sure that Sherlock was alright and looked back up.  
“Hey,” he said softly, hand tightening in Sherlock's curls. Sherlock looked up at him and pulled off slowly, but this time he didn't look desperate or forlorn, instead his eyes were shining brightly. John traced a finger from his temple down his cheek to his swollen lips.  
“You're bloody amazing,” John told him and Sherlock's face lit up in the most beautiful way John had ever seen, before he closed his eyes and swallowed John down as far as he could.  
“Oh fuck.”  
John's eyes rolled back and his head hit the cushions with a thump and then his mind went wonderfully blank. He felt Sherlock's mouth moving on him, one hand massaging his balls carefully and John couldn't hold back any longer. He moaned loudly, panting hard and that only seemed to encourage Sherlock further. It didn't take long until John felt his orgasm approaching. He looked up and pulled lightly on unruly curls.  
“Sherlock, I'm so close.”  
Sherlock sucked hard one last time before he pulled off and sucked on his balls instead. Sherlock stroked firmly four, five times until John's hips lifted off the sofa and he came with a shout, eyes pressed shut. 

It took John a while to come down from his high and he became vaguely aware of Sherlock moving somewhere between his legs. John opened his eyes and found him sitting on his heels between John's legs, trousers open, stroking his own cock inside his pants. Sherlock's eyes were fixed on John and God, he looked beautiful with his face and chest flushed, curls a mess.  
“C'mere, let me help,” John stretched out a hand and Sherlock complied immediately. He pulled his trousers and pants down a bit and leaned over John, pressing a fierce kiss onto his lips.  
John took hold of Sherlock's cock and started stroking in a fast rhythm. They kissed passionately, Sherlock pushing into the circle of John's hand, until he wasn't able to keep the kissing up any longer and pressed his face against John's shoulder instead, panting hard.  
“Let me hear you,” John told him and Sherlock stopped holding back and moaned in that deep baritone and just hearing those noises made John's cock half hard again.  
It didn't take more than a dozen strokes before Sherlock tensed above him and John felt warm wetness hitting his stomach and chest, mingling with his own come. Sherlock groaned and shivered above him and John stroked him through it.  
Sherlock desperately tried to hold himself above John but as soon as his cock stopped twitching John pulled him down on top of himself, no matter the mess between their bodies.  
“Should've known that you would be brilliant at this, too,” John murmured into Sherlock's ear.  
“Hmm?”  
“Blowjobs,” John said and they both started giggling until Sherlock leaned up on his elbows and suddenly became very earnest. John stroked one hand through damp curls and Sherlock leaned into the touch, closing his eyes briefly.  
“What is it?” John asked.  
Sherlock's eyes opened again, searching John's face.  
“Last night, I...”  
John continued stroking Sherlock's curls with one hand, while stroking up and down his spine with the other.  
“I thought I had destroyed everything,” Sherlock whispered. “I thought I had finally chased you away for good.”  
John's heart ached. How could he believe that John would ever leave him?  
“You had absolutely no idea, hadn't you?”  
Sherlock's brows furrowed so John continued.  
“That I've fallen in love with you on that same night.”  
Sherlock looked incredulous.  
“What?”  
“When I shot that cabbie and you deduced it. I called you an idiot and you just smiled at me as if I had just told you something extraordinary... That's when I fell in love with you, Sherlock.”  
John could see the realisation hitting Sherlock and for the first time since they've known each other Sherlock seemed to be completely and utterly speechless. John saw tears appearing in his eyes and he pulled him back into his arms.  
“I could never, ever leave you.”  
Sherlock pressed his body closer to John's.  
“You wanna know why?” John continued. “Because I love you, you bloody idiot.”  
Sherlock looked up then, eyes full of emotion and kissed him fiercely and John just hoped that he would never, ever stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments and all your kudos. Every single one of them made me smile during the last two weeks.  
> I hope this chapter was worth the wait.


End file.
